


Count

by Much_Ado_Abt_Novels



Category: Original Work
Genre: Actually you have every right to, Attempt at Humor, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Cliché but having fun with it, Darker themes to come, Don't Judge Me, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Human/Vampire Relationship, Neurodiversity, Self-Indulgent, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Much_Ado_Abt_Novels/pseuds/Much_Ado_Abt_Novels
Summary: What would it be like to date a hot, rich, Italian vampire? It probably involves weekend trips to Milan and getting sucked into political conflicts you weren't ready for.Inari, a mortal girl, runs into an intriguing man at a bookstore, which leads to cute dates and sexual escapades with blood-sucking monsters. But beneath closed-mouth smiles and expensive suits, darker plots lurk.Sexy vampires. Scheming villains. Death. What more could you ask for?
Relationships: Original Female Character(s) of Color/Original Male Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. I Discuss Poe with a Handsome Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fun little writing exercise in putting on paper whatever the fuck comes into my head without worrying about it being silly. It's a mostly character-driven story, but it does get into heavier plot later on, especially in the second book. I plan three books of about 50,000 words each, but it's more like one book in three sections. I'll add books two and three to this same document/story to keep things easy to find.
> 
> Enjoy!

#### Prologue

Malachi Isles was on his way to kill a vampire. This particular target was the head of an organized crime cell, selling meth to kids so that he could lounge in a five-story mansion by the sea. Despicable.

A butler who looked as if he had once been a pro wrestler answered Malachi’s knock and ushered him into the parlor. “Wait here,” he said and left, shutting the door behind him.

The room was furnished with a desk, bookshelves, and a liquor stand, all in gleaming red wood. To pass the time, Malachi examined the liquor stand and its crystal decanter of golden fluid, lifting the stopper off a bottle and swirling the contents before placing it back in its spot. He was inspecting the bookshelves when his host entered.

“Malachi Isles!” said the vampire. He made no apology for his tardiness. Instead, he crossed to the liquor stand and offered Malachi a drink. “Would you like some? Finest Bourbon on the east coast.”

“I’m familiar with your exquisite taste in alcohol,” Malachi said, maintaining a relaxed expression. “I’d be a fool to turn you down.”

The crystal clinked as the vampire poured them both drinks. Then he reclined in a black leather chair. “Now, to business!”

Malachi sipped his drink. It took all of his willpower not to grimace in distaste at the ill-gotten luxury around him. “May we speak freely here?”

“The walls are completely soundproof, and the room is swept for bugs daily.”

“Wonderful,” he replied. “Then, I have found you a poison fatal to vampires, as requested. It’s called ‘sunrise.’ It is odorless, tasteless, and nearly undetectable.”

“Then the fifty thousand is yours.” He slid a briefcase across the desk.

“Interestingly enough,” Malachi continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted, “the poison is completely harmless to humans.” He took another drink.

The vampire tapped his desk and loosened his tie. “Fascinating. Is it hot in here?”

Malachi ignored him. “But in vampires who consume it, it causes dizziness, muscle cramping, and a burning sensation throughout the body.”

The vampire shifted in his seat, a bead of sweat running down his face.

“One minute in, and the victim’s speech and mobility are inhibited.” Malachi smiled, enjoying the sight of the vampire squirming before him. “I want another million for the antidote.”

If looks could kill, Malachi would be on his way to vampirism himself. Livid, the vampire unlocked a desk drawer and clumsily extracted stacks of cash.

Malachi took his time counting it. “Three minutes, and the victim can barely stay conscious. Four, and death is inevitable.” He laughed. “Should I say death? You’re already dead, aren’t you? Well, four minutes after consumption, the victim will feel as if the sun is burning the flesh from his body, and by minute five, nothing will be left of him but ash.”

Malachi stepped over the convulsing vampire and took the rest of the cash from the drawer—almost two million US dollars—and put it in the briefcase. The vampire crumbled into dust as Malachi stepped out of the parlor. “Your cut, Jeffory,” Malachi said, handing the butler a stack of hundreds.

Vampires were like parasites, Malachi thought as he drove away. They preyed on humans with a bloodlust that could never be satiated. The only way to stop them was to kill them all.

###  1\. I Discuss Poe with a Handsome Stranger 

The bookstore on the corner of 5th and Ivy in London had the kind of timeless atmosphere that made me feel as if a romance novel plot could begin at any moment. It was quaint, secluded, and mysterious—a gem that had seduced me with its coffee shop and impressive collection of first editions.

One particular corner housed books with faded leather covers and thick pages that looked and smelled like a bibliophile’s wet dream. I liked to sit cross-legged on the dusty floor, holding the old books and turning their pages reverently where no one would see me. Here, I could breathe and simply exist in the quiet.

The spell was broken when the owner, the one blemish on the store’s otherwise perfect aura, poked his head around a shelf and scowled, doing nothing to hide his displeasure at catching me there. Again. He knew from experience that I wasn’t going to buy any of the beautiful, expensive tomes. “If you so much as bend a corner of a page, you’re out of here,” he said. “And you have to buy the book, too.”

“Got it,” I replied, cheerily holding up two thumbs. He slunk away, and I went back to reading.

A bell chimed, signaling that someone was entering the shop. I pictured the large WELCOME sign fluttering as it resumed its normal position. The newcomer’s footsteps were silent on the carpet, so I didn’t know he was approaching until he rounded the corner a few feet in front of me.

My first impression of him was a pair of slim Oxford shoes. I followed the crisp line of his pants up… and up. Damn, he was tall. But then my gaze alighted on his face, and I nearly had the breath stolen from my lungs. He had the most gorgeous face I had ever seen on a human being. But the most startling thing about his appearance wasn’t the immaculate clothing, or the height, or the razor-sharp jawline: it was his eyes. They were like twin coals, smoldering and dangerous.

I blinked and they lost their magical glow—just uncommonly beautiful brown eyes in an uncommonly beautiful face.

My presence had caught him off guard. He paused and looked me up and down, startled. “Excuse me,” he said, then turned and examined the nearest shelf. He had a hint of an accent: something from a romance language, though I couldn’t pin it down any more than that. His gloved fingers slid along a row of bindings, finally halting on a particular book and extracting it.

I rose to my feet; there was simply no room in the aisle for me to sit while another person browsed.

Who was this stranger who had barged into my quiet evening? I rarely saw others venture into my corner, but this man moved with intention like he had known what he would find here even before entering the shop.

My anxiety advised me to slip away and avoid the awkward interaction I was contemplating, but something—the bookstore’s mystique, his good looks—made me take a deep breath and plunge forward.

“I’m Inari,” I introduced myself, holding out my hand. A moment passed before he took it.

“Sergio.”

The book he was holding was so worn that I could barely make out the red words embossed on the cover. “ _Vampyres: Fact and Myth_ ,” I read. “Researching your kind?”

His head whipped around and his eyes locked onto mine.

In appeasement, I raised the palm that wasn’t keeping a firm hold on my book. “I kid! I kid. Because your clothes are dark and you are...ah...attractive. Sorry. It was a lame attempt at a joke.” Well, this was going swimmingly. In my head, I facepalmed. 

His expression faded from concern to amusement.

I cleared my throat and tried to salvage the situation. “So what is it really for? The book, I mean.”

“I understood. In truth, I am buying it for aesthetics alone. I have to fill my house’s shelves with antique-looking texts, or else what sort of gothic mansion would it be?” He watched me from the corner of his eye.

Was that a joke? “Well, if that’s the case,” I said, playing along, “I can recommend a few more books you simply must have.” I took a step toward the shelf he was appraising and tried to ignore him when he took one away from me. “ _The Count of Monte Cristo_ —a work of genius. And this copy has an embellished cover.” I tapped the spine. “ _The Castle of Otranto_ , if you are going for the gothic feel. And _Frankenstein_ as well. All the essentials to impress your visitors.”

“How about Poe?” he inquired, tugging out a thick book with silver and black scrollwork.

“I think he’s overrated, actually.”

Sergio cocked an eyebrow at me. “Oh?”

“I mean, he’s a brilliant author, but he’s become a cliché. And there are a host of other brilliant authors out there who deserve the same recognition but don’t get it.” I shrugged, hoping for the hundredth time that day that he didn’t think me too weird.

“You are a fascinating girl,” he said. “So you think I should skip the Poe?”

I tapped a finger on my chin in mock contemplation, then let out a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose that since the western world has labeled him an icon, there is no use fighting the rule of the masses.”

“We must pick our battles,” he agreed. The corner of his mouth was turned up in a smile.

“And it does fit with the aesthetic,” I teased.

“Which is of the utmost importance when selecting books.” He collected the other titles that I had mentioned and added them to the stack in his arms.

I couldn’t believe he was going to buy all of them. That had to cost hundreds of pounds!

“And what have you been reading?” he asked, referring to the book still in my hand.

I lifted it so he could see the cover and warned myself not to gush too much and scare him away. “It’s a gorgeous copy of Grimm fairy tales. The cover has leatherwork and gold leaf, and there are a bunch of illustrations inside, too.”

Sergio gently took it from me and flipped through the pages. He stopped and studied one of the pictures: a painting of Sleeping Beauty. A beam of light streaming through a window illuminated her golden hair and rosy skin, but outside that ray, the colors were murky and spiderwebs infested every surface.

“It is rather macabre, is it not?” he asked, opening to another illustration. A young girl in white cowered behind a barrel; three laughing men, one holding a knife, pinned another girl to a table.

“I kind of like the grotesque,” I said. “It’s interesting.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” He snapped the book shut and handed it back to me. “Will you buy it?”

“Oh no,” I admitted, placing it back on the shelf. “It’s pretty expensive. And I’ve already read it a bunch of times. I just can’t justify spending that much money when I can get a regular copy of the same stories for a tenth of the price.” I smiled at him. “Even if this copy is super pretty.”

He flashed me a tight-lipped smile, and I blushed.

That instant, the store owner appeared, mouth already forming a reprimand, but he caught sight of Sergio—a customer who, unlike me, could obviously pay for the merchandise he was holding—and faltered. He collected himself and informed us that the shop would be closing in fifteen minutes.

We followed him through the maze of bookshelves to the counter. I stood by awkwardly while Sergio paid with a blue credit card. His purchases went in hefty woven bags printed with the store’s logo: a green book titled “Treehouse Books.”

Sergio could easily carry the bags himself, but I followed him into the chilly night anyway, unsure what to do next.

He made the first move. Once outside, he shifted his bags to his left arm and took my hand. The gloves and his voice were gentle but distant. “Thank you for your advice and your charming company.”

I panicked. I wanted to get his number, or his last name—anything. This witty, beautiful stranger was about to disappear from my life with nary a chance for another meeting. I could see myself years from now, laying in bed, ruminating over what might have been if I weren’t a coward afraid of social interaction. “Hold on,” I said in a rush. “Would you like to go out for coffee sometime? Or lunch or something?”

His brow furrowed, and a strange expression came over him.

My heart sank like a rock to the pit of my stomach. He was going to refuse.

But after a lengthy and awkward pause, he said, “It would be my pleasure. Could you meet me here three days from now at eight o’clock?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “That sounds great.”

“Excellent. If eight is not too late for you to eat, I’ll take you to dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” I couldn’t believe I’d asked out a complete stranger (and a gorgeous one, nonetheless). I had never done anything like this before. More than that, I couldn’t believe he had accepted.

But sure enough, he lifted my hand and pressed a kiss on its back.

Seriously? Who did that? Not that I was complaining.

“I will see you Tuesday evening, then,” he said. He released my hand and was gone.


	2. My Best Friend Makes Hot Chocolate and is Insufferable

I couldn’t resist texting my best friend the minute Sergio disappeared.

_ Me: Met a cute guy at the bookstore. We’re going on a date Tues. _

I was on the Tube heading home when I heard the sharp ping alerting me to a new message. Then another.

_ Katie: OMGoodness _

_ Katie: Tell me everything!! _

I typed a reply with one thumb; my other hand gripped a handle to keep me steady as the train swayed and accelerated.

_ Me: On my way home. Will then _

_ Katie: You’d better _

Katie was waiting for me at our apartment, opening the door before I could even reach for the handle. “Welcome home. Now spill,” she demanded in her thick British accent. She let me pass and closed the door behind me.

“Were you standing by the door this whole time just for dramatic effect,” I asked, setting my purse on the kitchen counter, “or did you hear me coming up the stairs?”

“We’ve been roommates since Uni. I know the sound of your footsteps.” She took a seat at the table and propped her chin on her hands expectantly. “Don’t avoid the question.”

Katie and I had been best friends since our sophomore year of college. The administration had paired us together after we both requested new roommates. Best decision of my life.

Katie had thick, blonde hair cut above her shoulders and a round, pixie-ish face that typically held one of two expressions: stubbornness and sarcasm. Her body was pear-shaped—pleasantly thicc. She was creative and compassionate, but her years of martial arts training gave her confidence I rarely saw in anyone else. She was an enigma, and she liked it that way.

“Okay,” I relented, pulling out the chair opposite her. The table was so small that when we leaned forward conspiratorially, our noses nearly touched. “I was sitting in the back corner of the bookshop, and this guy came in. Had to be six foot two, six foot three maybe.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was wearing these incredibly hot, black Oxfords, black slacks, and a dark gray button-down…”

She slapped the side of my head affectionately. “Enough of your obsession with men in nice clothes! I meant his face.”

I felt a smile creep across my features and leaned back in my chair. “He was really pretty. You know how some guys are ruggedly handsome while others are pretty? This guy was beautiful. No other word for it.”

“Did he try to hit on you?” she asked. “Do I need to beat him up?”

“No,” I reassured her. “If anything, I was hitting on him. He just walked into my corner and started looking at books. He was hot—and he was looking at books, which is double hot—so I struck up a conversation.”

“I’m impressed. What did you guys talk about?”

“Books,” I said sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes and left the table to make some hot chocolate. “Want any?” she asked, holding up the box of cocoa powder.

“Yes, please. So we talked about books. He said he was buying interesting ones to put in his gothic mansion, but I think that might have been a joke.”

“You couldn’t tell if ‘gothic mansion’ was a joke?” She stirred the mugs of chocolate one at a time and put them in the microwave.

I put my head in my hands. “No! I mean, it’s possible he could afford a mansion. He was wearing really nice clothes.” At her intake of breath, I held up one index finger in a shushing motion. “Not a word. And he bought every book I recommended.” I looked up from my hands.

Katie wore a bemused expression as she took the mugs out of the microwave, stirred them once more, and handed me mine. “Here you go. Come sit on the couch.”

Our apartment may have been tiny, but our couch, at least, was glorious. It was broad and soft, and the cushions cradled you like clouds when you sank into them. Piled with extra blankets and pillows, it made the perfect place to spend a lazy evening reading or watching TV.

“So when are you meeting him again?” Katie asked once we were settled, excitement returning to her voice.

I took a sip of hot chocolate. It was perfect. “Tuesday at 8:00. We’re going out for dinner.”

The storm of relentless questions continued. “Is he picking you up here? Where is he taking you?”

“No, at the bookstore. And I don’t actually know.” I rested my drink in my lap. “It happened rather fast, and I forgot to ask. How will I know what to wear?”

Hearing the anxiety in my voice, Katie rubbed my back. “Don’t worry. You can just text him.”

I took another drink.

She cringed. “You don’t have his number, do you? Do you even know his name?”

“His first name; it’s Sergio.”

She fixed me with a hard stare that would have made anyone else squirm in their skin. Most people underestimated Katie for the first few minutes of knowing her because of how darn  _ cute _ she was, but they quickly realized their mistake; beneath her soft curves was a layer of firm muscle, and behind her blue eyes was a fierce brain. However, I knew her well enough to differentiate her “I’m going to destroy you and bury your body in the woods” look and her “I’m concerned for you” look. This was the latter.

“Now before you start criticizing me,” I said, “I’d like to state that in my defense, he was quite attractive.”

“Just be careful, love. In my experience, men are mistakes more often than not.”

“You have dated a sum total of two men, Katie,” I said. “Yet you talk like you’ve lived a full romantic life.”

She stood and carried her empty cup to the kitchen. “You date two, you’ve dated ‘em all. That’s why I prefer girls.”

“And you’ve dated a sum total of zero girls,” I called, unable to resist giving her a hard time. “When are you finally going to get up the guts to ask a girl out?”

“When I fucking feel like it, that’s when.”

I grinned, then yawned. “I’m going to finish this then go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

“I think I’ll join you.”

“In my bed?” I teased.

She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows. “Possibly.”

I snorted and left the warm embrace of the couch, setting my mug in the sink before heading in the direction of my room. “Goodnight, Katie,” I said. But before reaching the doorway, I spun around and gave her my best mournful look. “The days we spent together were the best of my life, but alas, someone new has claimed my affections.”

She heaved a heavy sigh, mirroring my dramatics. “I knew this day was coming—the day you’d be stolen from me. My heart just might break in two.” She accentuated this statement by furiously clasping her chest and tossing back her head.

I was the first to break into laughter, but she didn’t hold out for long.

“Night,” I said, for real this time.

“Goodnight, you goof,” she laughed. The pillow she threw hit my door with a dull thunk as I closed it behind me.


	3. Seriously, Those Cheekbones Could Cut Glass

“Be safe, girl,” Katie said, giving me a tight hug. “Count your drinks. And text me constantly. I want updates every half hour, or I’ll assume something terrible has happened and I’ll have no choice but to fight your mystery man.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to fight anybody,” I replied, grabbing my bag and double-checking that I had everything I needed. Phone. Wallet. Travel makeup kit. And a few accessories that I could don if I needed to spice up my outfit.

Since I had no idea what sort of restaurant Sergio was taking me to, I was wearing a simple black dress and flats, and my hair flowed freely around my shoulders. Hopefully I looked pretty but informal enough not to draw attention if we ended up going someplace casual. In case the venue required a fancier getup, I was bringing along a pair of sleek black heels, some jewelry, and a wrap that I could toss on in a moment.

I took the Tube to the bookstore as per usual, arriving five minutes before eight. Sergio was already there, leaning against the brick outside the shop. His eyes traveled up and down my body as I crossed the parking lot. They glinted with an emotion I couldn’t identify.

“Hi,” I said lamely. The crisp night wind blew a strand of hair into my face, and I tucked it behind my ear.

He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek, having to bend down a ways to reach. “Hello.”

I took in his stylish outfit with dismay. He was dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, complete with a tie clip and glinting watch. His midnight hair was slicked back, stark against his pale skin.

“I’m underdressed,” I noted.

“Indeed, but the fault is mine. I should have better communicated with you.”

“No worries,” I said. “Just give me a moment.” I set the bag on the ground and rummaged through it for the stilettos and white wrap. Hands in his pockets, Sergio watched curiously as I switched shoes and pinned on silver teardrop earrings and a matching necklace.

Finally, I removed an elegant black purse from the simple bag and tucked everything else, including the original bag, into it. “Ta-da,” I said.

“That was artfully done,” Sergio complemented. He offered me his arm. “Shall we?”

“The power of a little black dress,” I said. I slipped my arm into his and let him lead me to his car, a black Corvette. He opened the passenger door for me before entering the driver’s side. As he pulled the car into the street, I shot Katie a quick text letting her know I was with Sergio, heading out.

She sent back a thumbs-up emoji.

Sergio and I drove in silence for a few minutes, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, I cleared my throat and asked, “So where are we going?”

“An Italian restaurant. In my opinion, the best in London.”

“Are you Italian?” His accent had been nagging me as I tried to place it.

“I am.” He slowed the car into a turn, and there was another pause. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you Chinese?”

“Japanese,” I corrected. It was a common mistake. People thought every East Asian person was Chinese.

“Ah. _Watashi no machigai o yurushitekudasai_.”

I gaped at him, dumbfounded. “Um, I don’t actually know Japanese. I was raised in America, and so were my parents. I’ve only been to Japan a few times.”

“I see. I said, ‘Please forgive my mistake,’ and now I must say it again.”

“It’s fine. I can’t believe you speak Japanese. Where did you learn it?”

“I’ve picked up several languages along the way.”

Sergio’s vague answer did nothing to sate my curiosity. He couldn’t be much older than me, but what sort of things had he done that made “picking up” a language an inconsequential occurrence?

As he concentrated on the road, I took the opportunity to study his face. He looked like a photoshopped picture of a model—the kind in wristwatch advertisements. His jaw was slanted and defined, and he had high, sharp cheekbones. His lips were shapely, which sounded odd to describe, but they suited him. And his lashes were as long and dark as I wished mine were. (Cue pouting in envy.)

Sergio shocked me out of my reverie, asking, “So when did you move to Britain?”

I fiddled with the hem of my dress to give my hands something to do. “Seven years ago, for college. I came for the experience of living in a new place and fell in love with London. Thankfully I was able to find a job right out of school so that I could stay on a work visa.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a junior editor for a newspaper. It can be dull sometimes, but I love it. London is bursting with history and culture. There’s so much to learn and do here.”

As I finished speaking, we pulled up to a canopied unloading area. “Here we are,” Sergio said. A young man in a white button-up and a vest opened my door.

I stepped out of the car, and the valet closed the door behind me. “Thank you,” I told him.

I pulled my wrap tight around my shoulders and tried not to gawk at the ornate decorations on the building in front of me, reminiscent of a five-star hotel.

Sergio tucked the valet ticket into his pocket as another valet drove the Corvette out of sight. He rested his right hand on the small of my back and walked me into the covered waiting area.

“Welcome to La Bella Rosa,” said a smiling waitress at a podium. Her name tag read _Sarah_. “Reservation?”

“Thank you. Genovesi, party of two,” Sergio said.

She made a note on the list in front of her and ushered us through the revolving gold doors.

The smell hit me first: olive oil and fresh bread. And the sight of the restaurant was no less pleasing. It was laid out in a series of twisting alcoves to afford you privacy no matter where you sat. The lighting was dim. A fireplace on one wall cast looming, flickering shadows through the iron and glass partitions that divided up the room.

Sarah led us to our table. The centerpiece was a single rose in a glass vial. Each place setting included a set of silverware rolled in a navy napkin and three dishes of decreasing diameter.

Sergio barely glanced at the menu that Sarah handed us before ordering a bottle of red wine from the selection. I wouldn’t even try to pronounce the name—something with lots of ‘i’s and ‘o’s.

“Can I bring you anything else to drink?” she asked, pouring two crystal glasses of water for us.

Sergio looked to me to answer. 

“No, water is fine, thank you.”

The waitress returned shortly with the bottle of wine, opened it in front of us, and poured us each a glass. She followed it with a basket of assorted pieces of bread and a tray of dips. I felt myself salivate. Bread was my weakness.

“How do the appetizers look?” she asked. “The bruschetta is fantastic.”

I finished scanning through the list of starters before replying. “I think I’ll skip the appetizer.”

“And I as well,” said Sergio. Sarah promised to be back in a few minutes to take our meal order.

The buzz of chatter and the clinking of utensils against plates intermingled with violin music in a fluid tangle. Our table’s intimate situation, tucked into a nook and only open on one side, served to heighten the romantic atmosphere. My mind and heart raced at the stimulation of my senses.

Needing some relief from the noise, I pulled a pill box out of my purse and took one of the square pills with a sip of water.

“Are you all right?” Sergio asked.

“Yes. Just a bit of anxiety.”

“Being here with me makes you anxious?”

“Not exactly. I have anxiety: the medical condition,” I confessed. “The new sensations and sounds can be overwhelming, but the pill helps me relax.” I braced myself for the look of pity or confusion that often arrived after I revealed this information. It didn’t come.

“I was unaware. If this place is overstimulating, we can leave and go somewhere else.”

“No, no,” I assured him, putting a soothing hand on his arm. “This place is beautiful. I’m fine, but if it gets worse, I promise to let you know.”

He nodded and relaxed.

I removed my arm, grateful for his understanding. Most people began a line of intrusive questions. _‘Anxiety? So you’re just stressed?’_ Or, _‘Have you tried relaxing?’_ I would patiently explain the science behind my imbalance of chemicals, but to them, it was just an excuse or an overreaction.

Sergio’s voice tugged me back into reality. “Does anything on the menu look good?” Perhaps it was a trick of the setting, but his accent sounded more pronounced.

“I might need you to explain a few of these choices to me,” I said. “I can’t understand half the words written here.”

He chuckled and tipped the menu toward him so that he could see it. He pointed to each dish as he described it. “This is a creamy pasta. This is a bundle of spicy meats wrapped in noodle, like a dumpling. Pieces of fish and vegetables floating in a white wine sauce…”

“Here’s a word I recognize: pizza!” I grinned at him. “And don’t tell me pizza isn’t really Italian. It’s on the menu; I’m getting it.”

“As you wish.” He sat back in his chair, hiding a smile.

Sarah returned to take our order. Sergio requested the _Linguine alle vongole_ (pasta with clams), and I asked for the _pizza mozzarella_ (mozzarella pizza).

“Your food will be right out,” she bubbled. “In the meantime, enjoy our selection of bread.” She clicked her pen closed and carried our menus away.

I made lame conversation to fill the silence. “There were lots of pasta choices.”

“Indeed. We Italians are fond of our pasta. But the food is more diverse than you might at first realize—a mishmash of many unique cultures that have evolved the cuisine into what you consider today to be ‘Italian.’” He scooped up some finely diced tomatoes with a chunk of flatbread and showed it to me. “For example, tomatoes are incorporated in many Italian dishes. But the tomato was not introduced to Italy until the discovery of the New World.”

“Wow. I wish you had told me all that before I ordered.”

He chuckled and took a bite of the tomatoes and bread.

“I’d never thought about the history of food before, but I suppose there is a lot to discover there.”

“You enjoy history?”

“Very much. Most people I know classify themselves as either math-oriented or language-oriented, but I think there are so many fascinating subjects—philosophy, religion, psychology—and even more interesting is the development of them around the world.” I gestured vaguely. “History.”

I peeked into the bread basket and chose the least scary option: a plain white roll. I tore off a chunk and dipped it in a mix of olive oil and herbs. It tasted exquisite. A sip of the wine convinced me, if there was any doubt, that Sergio knew what he was about when it came to Italian food.

“This is so good that I don’t even need the entree,” I said.

At 8:29, I shot Katie another text so she wouldn’t worry.

Sergio was good company, if a tad stiff and formal. The music and conversation throughout the restaurant lulled me into a pleasant stupor, and we finished our bread in companionable silence.


	4. I Make Some Bad Decisions

“Your hands are so cold,” I blurted out after taking hold of one that was resting on the table. I tried to rub some warmth into it. Did he need my wrap or something?

“I have naturally cold hands,” Sergio said. “In fact, my whole body is cold to the touch. Sparing you the medical particulars, the condition isn’t hazardous to my health but merely the result of a curious way the blood flows through my veins.”

“How odd,” I said. I let go of his hand, suddenly shy. “So what do you do for a living?” I asked him as we waited for our food to arrive.

“I orchestrate business dealings between wealthy people and companies. A middleman of sorts. It involves attending lots of meaningless parties and sucking up to lots of pompous asses, but I do get to travel, so it isn’t all bad.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Fancy parties, card games in back rooms with millionaires… I don’t know how you can stand it.”

He rubbed his chin. “You’re right, of course. Every job has its unsavory bits, and mine does come with better perks than most.”

“Like a Corvette.”

He smiled his typical close-mouthed smile. “Like a Corvette. And taking beautiful women on expensive dates.”

I swirled my wine in the glass as an excuse to look away from him for a moment. “I bet you meet many beautiful women.”

“Beautiful, yes, but superficial—bound in the pursuit of pleasure. Unlike you.”

My breath hitched at his sincerity, and I tried to lighten the mood. “Pulling the ‘not like the other girls’ line. I expected better from you. But I’m glad you think I’m not beautiful or superficial.”

He smiled at the ground. “You are extraordinarily beautiful, and you have one of the most exquisite minds I have ever encountered.” He looked back up at me, his face suddenly solemn. He was about to say something else, but Sarah brought over our food, and we let the conversation lapse so we could eat. He seemed glad of the excuse not to speak.

I hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts. It was difficult to admit to myself, but I liked this guy more than I thought. I wanted him to like me too.

My pizza had been baked in a stone oven, and a dusting of flour coated the bottom. It was delicious. I tried to savor it, but Sergio was making me nervous. He picked at his food and kept staring at me intently then looking away guiltily.

My phone showed that it was now 9:00, so I texted Katie again under the table.

_ Me: Still not kidnapped. Having dinner _

_ Katie: Ha ha. Watch yourself _

I eased up the full frontal attack on my pizza as my stomach filled.

When Sergio offered me one of his clams, I tried it, but the look on my face as the slimy thing slid down my throat must have been priceless because he chuckled behind his hands. But too quickly, the smile dropped from his face. Something was distracting him, not letting him enjoy the dinner.

I excused myself to the bathroom to check that nothing was glaringly wrong with my appearance. Nothing stuck in the teeth. Hair a little messy, but not disastrous. I touched up my makeup and then headed back to the table.

Sergio rested his crossed arms on the table as I sat down. He met my eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. “I must be honest with you.”

Crap. Fuck. Hell in a handbasket. “Oh?” I didn’t have the strength to think of a witty reply.

“You and I—a relationship between us—would not work.”

Tears stung my eyes. It had been going so well, hadn’t it? What had I done wrong? “I see.”

“No, please don’t be upset. It has nothing to do with you, I promise. Do you know the phrase, ‘It’s not you, it’s me?’ Except that when others use it, it is often an excuse more than a heartfelt sentiment? I truly mean it. I never intended to cause you pain.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m babbling.”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered past the lump in my throat.

“Of course not. I’m sorry.” He regrouped his thoughts, then began again. His tone was bitter. “I associate on a daily basis with some very dangerous people. I  _ am _ a dangerous person.” He took a deep breath with his eyes closed; as he let it out, he gripped the table, every muscle tense. “It is like this: I do not wish you to be hurt, but I can not guarantee your safety, or… or security. I can not even give you children.”

“Children?” Warning lights blared in my mind.

He looked miserable, and I almost felt sorry for him, except that he was sort of breaking up with me on our first date. “I’m infertile,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Everything was happening so fast that I couldn’t get a grip on reality. Had he called himself dangerous?

His voice lowered to a growl. “No matter how many times I came in you, you would not conceive.”

I swallowed. “Oh,” I said weakly.

He crossed his arms. Then uncrossed them and took my hands in his. “Circumstances beyond my control prevent me from engaging in a serious relationship. The infertility is only the beginning.” He rubbed circles on my palms with his thumbs. “The business deals I close? Some of them cross into unsavory territory.”

“You mean they are illegal.”

“Yes.” His eyes cut into mine like shards of obsidian. “I have done things I’m not proud of, and I will continue to do them whether you like it or not. You are standing at the edge of a cliff, darling, and you can not begin to imagine what is at the bottom.” He leaned in close, making sure he had my full and undivided attention. He barely seemed to blink or breathe. “Be a smart girl and run away while you still can.”

Though I appreciated the honesty, it was brutal. Blessedly, I was saved from replying by the arrival of our waitress.

Sergio released my hands, breaking the spell, and requested the check. Sarah left.

“You brought me here to tell me you couldn’t date me?” I asked softly.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose again. “At the bookstore, it all happened so fast. You were lovely, and I thought you deserved an explanation. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

I was quiet as Sarah brought back the check and he signed it, pocketing his credit card. I mumbled a thanks to her. Then Sergio helped me stand and guided me out of the restaurant. I blinked away tears. I would not cry in front of him.

As we waited for the valet to bring the car, I sorted through what I had learned. “Just to be clear, you do like me, but you don’t think you should be in a relationship?”

“Darling, I haven’t been this attracted to a woman in a very long time. You are not the issue.”

I spread my hands. “Then we don’t date, officially. We take things slow. Meet when we can.”

He shook his head. “There is no future with me! I can’t provide you a family or security. I can’t even guarantee that I’ll be around on any given day; I’m often called away on short notice, and I can’t refuse.”

The car arrived. Sergio opened my door before the valet could.

He entered the car from the other side and buckled his seatbelt. “Can I take you home?” he asked. His voice was hollow. “I would feel better not dropping you off in front of a bookstore in the middle of the night.”

“All right.” I gave him directions to the apartment complex where I lived.

I tried one last time, desperate to convey that I didn’t want to lose him because of “mights” and “what-ifs.” Despite the way it was ending, my evening with him had been delightful. He wasn’t just handsome; he was intelligent and attentive and, yes, had an impressive wardrobe. “Suppose I don’t care that you’ve made your money illegally.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. “I’m not asking for a committed relationship, just to hang out sometimes—to go on a few dates. The way I see it, we’ll grow tired of the uncertainty eventually, but at least we can enjoy each other’s company before we part ways.”

Sergio’s brow furrowed in thought. He was considering it, and I pressed the advantage.

“You say you are attracted to me? Well, I’m extremely attracted to you. I don’t want to say goodbye wondering how it might have gone if we’d tried. Let’s take it day by day and make the most of the minutes off of work we can catch together. No labels, no expectations.”

I had almost given up hope of getting a reply when he spoke. “What’s the harm? We can steal a few moments of happiness before you inevitably become sick of the lies and canceled appointments and uncertainty. Before you come to your senses.”

“We are being spontaneous. I’m never spontaneous, so you don’t have to worry about it lasting,” I assured him.

He glanced at me then back at the road a few times before pulling sharply into a parking lot. He turned off the car. “Take off your jewelry,” he demanded.

“What?” Images flashed through my mind of serial killers, rapists, and thieves: any one of which he could be. Glancing around, I saw that we were alone in the parking lot.

“Your silver earrings and necklace. Take them off,” he repeated. A sly grin spread across his face. “I’m going to kiss your neck now, and they are in the way.”

My heart thumped in my chest as I fumbled with the clasps. I hadn’t expected such a dramatic turnaround in mood. One minute, he was insistent that he not get involved with me; the next, he was planning on kissing me so hard that my jewelry might get tangled.

Sergio unbuckled his seat belt, then mine, and waited until I had the pieces safely stored in my purse before stroking the back of his knuckles against my chin. When he pressed his lips to the base of my throat, I let out an involuntary moan. He trailed a hand through my dark hair, and his cool mouth teased my sensitive nerves to life.

I scarcely moved as his lips traveled up my neck, sucking gently. He nibbled my earlobe before switching to the other side. The satisfying pressure resumed directly under my jaw.

I responded then, wrapping my arms around him and pulling myself closer. Then my lips met his, and it was his turn to moan. The hand in my hair clenched and the other pressed my torso against his.

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement; every tiny movement sent thrills through my body. I shoved away the thought of how many other girls he must have kissed to achieve such skill.

When his tongue slid across my bottom lip, I sighed and opened my mouth more, granting him access. I cursed the armrest that divided us. Breath coming quickly, I started to work on his tie, but he pulled away.

He chuckled deep in his throat. “So eager.” His hands slid down my arms and held me back so he could meet my eyes. “Don’t worry, my dear; there will be plenty of time for that later.”

I blushed and ran a hand through my hair, ashamed by my forwardness. I barely knew this man!

He pressed one more kiss to my lips before easing back into his seat. “Let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you guys are thinking!


	5. I am Not Dating a Serial Killer

As we drove, I checked my phone, realizing with a jolt that I should have texted Katie half an hour ago. I had two missed calls and three unread messages sent ten minutes apart.

_ Katie: How’s it going? _

_ Katie: Is everything ok? _

_ Katie: Please call me back. _

I hit the dial button by her name. She picked up on the second ring.

“Inari!”

“Hi, Katie. I’m so, so sorry. I lost track of time and completely forgot about updating you.”

Sergio gave me a sidelong glance, then returned his attention to the road.

“It’s all right,” she sighed. “You made me nervous, though. I was about ready to call the police.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“But you’re okay?” She still sounded worried.

“Completely fine. Sergio is driving me home now.” I gave him a little smile.

“Then I’ll see you in a bit. Love you, girl.”

“Love you too.” I hung up. I slid my phone back into my purse, this time making sure the sound was turned on, then answered Sergio’s unasked question. “Katie is my roommate. I was supposed to be texting her on the half hour so she knew I wasn’t being molested or something.” I pulled down the sunshade in front of me and checked my reflection for hickeys. “First dates are the scariest. You could be meeting a serial killer and never even know. Not that I think you are a serial killer,” I assured him.

Sergio cleared his throat. “I’m glad that you have a person in your life to worry over you. It is a good feeling.”

No hickeys. I pushed the shade back up. “It is. Do you have someone like that?”

For as stern as his face looked most of the time, I was beginning to pick up on little cues that betrayed his emotions. That drop of his chin could mean sadness. Or I could be reading into things. “I have a few friends, but I see them rarely.”

“What about family? Mine is all in America, except for one grandmother in Japan.”

“Do you often visit them?”

He was avoiding the question, but I let it slide. “I’ve gone back twice for a week at a time, and sometimes my parents come here, but travel is expensive.” I trailed off, remembering that I was with a man who owned a Corvette and bought collector’s edition books by the bagful.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. “They must miss you.”

“They still have two kids at home, so they’re too busy to miss me.” I smiled at the memory of my mom on the phone telling me about my siblings. According to her, they had found callings in activities on opposite sides of town, so she spent her afternoons driving back and forth on the same stretch of road. I told Sergio that I had just the two siblings. For years, my parents had thought that they couldn’t have any more kids; then all of a sudden, eleven years after I’d been born, they had two in quick succession. Kai and Yasmine (our parents had given them the kind of names that wouldn’t scare off white people) had still been in elementary school when I’d left for college.

He told me he was an only child but would’ve liked a brother or sister.

We pulled up to my apartment. Artificial light leaked onto the street from a few scattered windows, including mine on the second floor.

“Katie is waiting up for me,” I observed. “You can drop me off here. Thank you for dinner. And the kiss.”

“Thank you, Inari, for your patience with me. And for kissing me back.”

“Goodbye.” I thought he eyed my lips again, so I gave him a quick peck before exiting the vehicle. I shut the door, then yanked it open again immediately. “Can I give you my phone number?” I asked.

“Ah,” his puzzlement cleared. “Please do.” He handed me his phone, and I entered my contact info.

I pushed it into his waiting hand. “Text me. Or call me. Whatever.”

“I most certainly will.”

“Okay,” I said, “bye for real now.” I heard him laugh as I shut the door for the second time and hurried to the staircase entrance.

Katie was laying on the couch with her eyes closed when I came in, but she lifted her head at the sound of the door. “You’re back,” she said.

“I am. Sorry again for forgetting to text you.”

“No worries.” She pulled herself into a sitting position, blankets falling like accumulated snow around her. “How was it?”

I slumped onto the couch next to her with a sigh. “Fun. And weird.” I kicked off my heels and told her about everything that had happened.

“Hon,” she said slowly when I’d concluded my tale, “maybe you should let this guy go.”

I had thought she might say that. But I wanted her to understand that this guy was unlike any I’d ever met. I valued her opinion, so convincing her of Sergio’s worthiness was important to me. “I know he said he couldn’t be in a relationship, but I think he was just being hard on himself. Like he’s used to denying himself things he thinks he doesn’t deserve.”

“You’ve only known him for three days, Inari,” she reasoned. “You’re in no position to make judgments like that.”

I rubbed the center of my palm where Sergio had traced circles with his thumb. “All his worries were about protecting me. I don’t think I’m in any danger from him.”

“Didn’t he say himself that he was dangerous? He could be a serial killer.”

How ironic that I had just mentioned this to Sergio! “Serial killers don’t confess to being dangerous and try to convince their victims to avoid them.”

“Ahem,” she sniffed. “Are you the serial killer expert in this friendship? I thought not.”

I rolled my eyes. “All right, Oh Mighty Serial Killer Expert: has anyone ever insisted to a girl that they can’t have a relationship, and then killed her?”

“I’ll have to look it up,” she said. We grinned at each other.

Sergio was right; having someone worry about you, whether or not you thought they were correct in worrying, was a good feeling.


	6. A Super Secret Admirer Sends Me a Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sergio is a gross texter. I love that about him.
> 
> Sergio: *uses a little winky face*  
> Me: awful. the worst. my baby ❤️

“Are you with us, Inari?” asked my boss, Ms. Neil, a no-nonsense brunette who had crushed expectations by becoming the first female editor of the London Weekly Observer—at thirty.

I blinked a few times and refocused on the meeting taking place. A dozen other employees and I sat around a table discussing the importance of stirring content. The conversation was putting me to sleep. “Yes, Ma’am,” I said. “My apologies.”

“Good,” said Ms. Neil. She turned back to the mockup board of the next edition.

I studied the meeting agenda in front of me, but I couldn’t seem to read more than five words without zoning out. If only I had gotten more sleep last night instead of lying awake thinking about a certain handsome Corvette-owner. As long as I wasn’t called on to speak, I was safe. I had already completed and turned in my article.

The meeting ended, and I slunk back to my desk, debating whether or not to leave. Since my work was finished, I was technically done for the day, but I was afraid that if I left before everyone else, my coworkers would judge me.

I told myself that I was being silly. Yet I stayed.

There were eight of us in this room seated in two rows of cubicles facing each other. The noise from the other workrooms filtered down the hall: keyboards clacking, a paper shredder buzzing two doors down, people chatting. The file cabinet in the corner of the office had one drawer ajar, and the imperfection caught my eye whenever I looked in that direction.

I opened my browser and searched for Sergio Genovesi. Was I a creeper? Possibly. But as _The Paladin Prophecy_ taught me, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that sorry is better than safe.

There was a Sergio Genovesi in Kansas whose Facebook page was full of tractors and a pretty blonde woman named Jamie. I moved on. I found a reference to an S. Genovesi on a wine appreciation site. Apparently, he had a modest but successful vineyard in Italy. I could see my Sergio owning a vineyard, but I couldn’t be sure they were the same person.

There wasn’t much more than that. Antonio Genovesi was a scholar who had lived in the 1700s. Sergio Giordano was twelve.

What had I expected? A police report? _‘Notorious outlaw Sergio Genovesi continues killing spree, picking up girls at bookstores and leaving their bodies in ditches.’_

Vaguely relieved that I hadn’t discovered anything of the kind, I logged off the computer and headed home. But first I closed the file cabinet drawer that had been tormenting me.

Katie must have found an exciting photography spot because she wasn’t home yet. She was a freelance photographer, sometimes taking specific jobs, and sometimes doing her own thing and hoping people would buy her pictures at showcases. I had been worried in college that she would be broke within a year, but that girl had talent; she could hardly take enough photos to keep up with the demand for her work.

A package was sitting outside the door when I returned, and I decided to wait until Katie got home to open it in case it was for her. Oddly, it had no postal markings, or any markings at all. Just a brown box taped shut.

“What’s that?” Katie asked when she arrived.

“I don’t know. It was sitting on the doormat when I got home.”

“Well open it!”

We held our breaths as I cut the tape with a pair of scissors and opened the box. I almost forgot to keep breathing.

It was the copy of Grimm fairy tales I had shown Sergio the day we met.

“Oh,” I gasped.

“It’s beautiful,” Katie said. “I wonder who it’s from.”

I gingerly lifted the book out of the box and ran my hand over the cover, feeling the familiar bumps of the embossed letters. “It’s from Sergio. This is a book that I’ve read over and over again at the bookstore but never bought. I was reading it when I met him.”

“Can I see it?” She perused the book while I made dinner. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

I wanted to call Sergio to thank him, but he hadn’t contacted me yet, and so I didn’t have his number. I satisfied myself by thinking of all the things I would say to him when I saw him, like, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

On Saturday, he texted me.

_ Sergio: Hello. This is Sergio Genovesi. I believe we have met? ;) _

I giggled and typed a reply.

_ Me: Have we? I’ve been on so many dates recently that it’s hard to keep them straight _

He replied instantly.

_ Sergio: What we did didn’t count as a date. Like an imbecile, I tried to end our affair before it began. But I would like a do-over. _

_ Me: Name the time and place _

_ Sergio: Mmm. Those are exquisite words _

_ Sergio: Are you busy now? _

It was 6:30. I had no plans.

_ Me: I’m free all evening _

_ Sergio: Put on something classy. We are going to the symphony. I’ll be there in 30 min to pick you up _

_ Me: Should I eat something? _

_ Sergio: Enough to tide you over until about 10:30. After that, I can take you out for dinner or drinks. Whatever you’d like. _

I bit my lip. Since I didn’t know how long our not-relationship would last, I wanted to make the most of every opportunity with him. But I also didn’t want to scare him away. In the end, I threw caution to the wind and trusted my instincts.

_ Me: How about going back to your place after? _

For a few terrifying minutes, he didn’t respond. I wanted to scream and light myself on fire in embarrassment. Then:

_ Sergio: Be careful, or I might just skip the symphony altogether. _

_ Me: Do you already have the tickets? _

_ Sergio: I’m tempted to lie and say no _

So he had bought them before asking me. I didn’t know what that meant. Maybe his date had canceled at the last minute, or maybe he was just insanely, attractively arrogant.

_ Me: Let’s go to the symphony. _

_ Sergio: 25 min _

I dropped the phone onto my bed and darted to my closet.

Twenty-five minutes later precisely, the doorbell rang. I was pulling on my second heel, so Katie answered the door.

“Hello,” she said. “Are you Sergio?”

“I am,” he replied. “You must be Katie.”

“A pleasure.” She shook his hand and stepped to the side, but he stood in the doorway as if afraid to come in.

“One second!” I yelled, grabbing my purse and smoothing my hair. I had donned a white dress and heels and a navy coat but hadn’t had time to do more than basic makeup. Regrettably, I’d skipped the eyeliner, so my eyes were doomed to smallness this evening.

I clacked over to Sergio; even in five-inch heels, I was shorter than him.

He kissed my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you very much. So do you.” I slung my purse strap over my shoulder as he smiled. “Take care, Katie,” I told my roommate. “I don’t know when we’ll be back, so don’t wait up.”

“I won’t.” She gave me a quick hug, and then I followed Sergio down the stairs to the first floor.

He led me through a short hall to the apartment’s parking garage.

Before I became distracted and forgot, there was something I wanted to say. “Thank you very much for the book.”

“Someone sent you a book?” he quipped.

I tried to shove his arm affectionately, but he was surprisingly firm and didn’t budge an inch. “The only thing I can’t figure out is: how did you know which apartment was mine?”

He abandoned his pretense of innocence. “Reasonable assumption. You deduced the other night that your friend was waiting up for you because the light was on. There were only a few lights in windows, and only one anywhere close to the ground. Since you took the stairs and not the elevator, I assumed that apartment to be yours.” He chuckled. “You would not, I thought, be climbing many flights of stairs in heels after a long night.”

“I’ll give you that one. Still, it was a risky move.”

His eyes met mine. “You are worth the risk.” Neither of us stirred for several long heartbeats. Then: “You like the book, though?”

I took his hand and squeezed it. “It was incredibly thoughtful. Thank you.”

I didn’t see his Corvette anywhere, but he could have parked it outside the building. So I was surprised when he stayed put instead of leading me into the fading daylight. “Where is your car?” I asked.

He said, “My driver will be here in a moment. Ah, there he is.”

A black sedan (I was beginning to discern a pattern in Sergio’s preferred color scheme) pulled into the garage and halted in front of us. Its windows were tinted, and when I got inside, I saw that a retractable partition, currently open, separated the front of the cab from the back.

“This is fancy,” I said, running my hand over the glossy leather seats.

Sergio sat next to me. “You know how to get to the symphony hall, Mike?” he asked the driver.

“Of course, sir,” Mike said. “You can pull up the window coverings.”

Sergio slid opaque screens over the back window, the side windows, and the partition, effectively enclosing us in our own little world. The fluorescent lights around the ceiling were the only reason that I could see.

“Why all the screens?” I asked, fighting the urge to whisper in the near darkness.

Sergio put his mouth next to my ear to answer. “Privacy.” He brushed my straight hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck. “Our lovely chauffeur Mike can’t hear us, either. Unless you scream.”

I stayed very still, savoring the closeness of him. My pulse quickened, senses heightened by the darkness. “Will I be screaming?”

I felt his smirk against the skin of my neck. “Only if you wish. The drive will take at least half an hour. What we do during that time is up to you.” He was so sexy, it hurt. Who else could have me trembling after mere minutes of being together?

I closed my eyes, waiting expectantly for a caress that never came. Then I opened them abruptly when I felt him pull away. “You tease!” I pouted.

His chest heaved with silent laughter. “Apologies, Madam,” he said without a hint of apology in his voice. “The symphony awaits, and I’m afraid if I start kissing you now I’ll never let you out of this car.”

I crossed my arms and feigned indignation. “I’m tempted to vacate this car immediately.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Without warning, he enveloped me and pressed my back into his chest. I shrieked. “Now you can’t escape.” He buckled the seat belt over us both.

I relaxed into his embrace. “I don’t want to escape anymore,” I said.

“Just as I planned.” Sergio could have no idea how content I felt leaning against his chest, wrapped in his arms, trailing my fingers over his hands absentmindedly.

All was quiet for a few minutes. “I can feel your heartbeat,” I said.

“And I yours.”

Even I couldn’t describe how much I enjoyed being near him and ached when he was gone.


	7. Just Your Everyday Gothic Mansion

Night had fallen by the time the car let Sergio and me out at the impressive entrance to the theater. The glowing lights and swirling crowd made me dizzy, and I was grateful for Sergio’s steady hand on the small of my back.

A swirling design of pink, green, red, and blue hung on posters around the hall, advertising Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons.” The same pattern graced the cover of the playbill an usher handed me.

“Your seats will be five rows from the front, on your left,” the usher said, handing us back our tickets and waving us through.

“Thank you,” Sergio said.

The chairs were the same red velvet as the enormous gathered curtains framing the stage. Musicians in matching tuxedos and floor-length dresses warmed up in front of us in a delightful cacophony.

“These seats are incredible,” I told Sergio after we sat down. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my dear. Have you heard “Four Seasons” before?”

As the seats around us filled, chattering voices joined the disharmonized instruments.

“I think I have,” I said over the crowd. “And you?”

“It is one of my favorite pieces of music. After it finishes, tell me which season was your favorite.”

“Which is yours?”

“I’ll let you guess.” He intertwined his fingers with mine and let our hands rest in my lap.

As the lights dimmed, the theater quieted. The first chair violinist entered to applause. Then she drew out a long note, and the rest of the orchestra joined in, tuning their instruments in a steady and rousing display.

Before Vivaldi were several other short pieces, including an excerpt from an opera, that featured violins prominently. I relaxed in my chair, content to let the music and the feel of Sergio’s hand in mine transport me away from reality.

An intermission followed, and then the first strains of “Spring” lept from the instruments in front of us, instantly recognizable. After the conclusion of “Winter,” a standing ovation urged the musicians to perform an encore piece. It was late when the car finally picked us up, but I enjoyed every minute of the night.

“So which piece was your favorite?” Sergio asked when we were snugly back in the car, on our way to his place.

“Spring,” I answered. “It was more complex than I expected it to be. I typically think of spring as light and whimsical, full of butterflies and flowers, but the music didn’t stay bright and airy all the way through. There were ups and downs.” I smoothed my dress over my legs. “And I liked the bits that sounded like birds chirping.”

“Interesting,” Sergio mused. “Spring is the most recognizable piece, but I like what you said about it having unexpected highs and lows. What might the composer have been thinking of?”

“April showers, maybe? I don’t know. I liked it. But my guess is that “Winter” was your favorite piece.”

Sergio stroked his chin. “Why do you say that?”

“You were moving around more—playing with my hand. You seemed to be more engaged.”

“On the contrary. I was restless because I was eager to get out of there,” he said cheekily. I smacked his arm. “No, my favorite is “Fall.” I think it is brilliantly reminiscent of “Spring” while still maintaining its uniqueness.”

So his favorite piece from the four was “Fall.” I added that to the list of things I knew about him, finding it pitifully short. “What’s your favorite color?”

“A deep blue-green, like teal.”

“Not black?” I joked.

“Ah, black. It is elegant, efficient, lazy, classic, and mysterious. It is one of my favorites but doesn’t earn the superlative. What color is your favorite?”

His eyes: a brown so dark they were nearly black. “Red,” I said aloud. “But I like black too.”

“Red and black. You will like my house then.”

I did like his house—very much.

I saw the windows first, in arched frames that tapered to points. Then I noticed the size. “When you said ‘gothic mansion,’ you weren’t kidding,” I gasped.

He tipped and dismissed Mike the chauffeur, then fiddled with a key in the front door lock. “Well, ‘gothic revival’ to be precise. You see, the house was built during a period…”

But I tuned him out. I didn’t care if I looked like a simpleton, gawking at his four-story manor of woodwork and glass. It was magnificent. We were barely forty minutes from downtown London, and veritable palaces lined the street.

“Please come in,” Sergio said, opening the door for me.

I stepped inside, and he closed the door behind me. It was dark—thick curtains covered every window, blocking even the faintest starlight—so he switched on the light.

I turned in a slow circle under a brilliant crystal chandelier. Black and gray tiles under my feet. A sweeping staircase on my left draped in a crimson rug, double doors on my right, and more doors farther down the hallway. The smell of lemon polish. It was just as impressive on the inside as on the outside, and I said so.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said.

I stepped off to the side of the entry hall where a painting hung in a niche. It was of a middle-aged man wearing a wig and old-fashioned dress. The frame was tarnished gold. “Do you live here all alone?”

“When I entertain,” he said wistfully, “which used to happen more often, this place is full of life. Every guest room occupied, a full staff… But other than that, yes.” He hung his coat on a rack and took mine as well. “When I am not traveling, I split my time between this house and one in Italy. A maid comes twice a week to clean. Am I talking too much? You make me nervous.”

He didn’t look nervous. With his hands in his pockets and his feet twelve inches apart, he looked cool and confident.

“No, you aren’t talking too much at all,” I said. Through the glass of the double doors, I saw a room with a bookcase. “What’s in here?” I asked, attracted to the books like a magnet.

“A study,” Sergio said, leading the way into the room. He closed the door behind us, the curved ebony handle snapping back into place with a click.

It was dim in the study, but the darkness made me hyper-aware of Sergio’s presence, and I liked it. I meandered around the room, looking at the titles of books and running my hands along dark pieces of furniture carved with swirls and fleur-de-lis. “I love this place. It’s like something out of a romance novel.” My voice echoed strangely in the silence. I faced Sergio, who was staring intently at me.

He cleared his throat. “Are you hungry? I know I promised you dinner.”

Oh. I wished we could stay in this room, or explore the rest of the house (perhaps his bedroom was nearby), but it had been hours since I had eaten anything substantial. “A little.”

He took me to a kitchen at the back of the house, styled gray and black and surprisingly modern. He flicked on a light switch. “What would you like to eat? Sandwiches? Cereal? Fruit? I’m afraid the options are limited.” He opened a cupboard and set a glass on the counter. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s no problem.” What could I eat that wouldn’t make my breath smell? “What sort of fruit do you have?”

“Strawberries and blueberries. If you wait a moment, I can cut some up for you.”

“That’d be great.”

He pointed to a spot behind me. “There is a living room right over there with some comfortable couches. Take a seat?”

I left the kitchen and wandered into the living room. It was decorated in somber black and red, with an antique clock sitting on the mantle over the fireplace, and thick curtains covering the windows. I sat on the edge of the loveseat and waited for Sergio.

He brought a glass of water and a bowl of blueberries and sliced strawberries for me. He sat opposite me in a high-backed chair.

I was self-conscious as I ate, not sure where to look.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked.

“No, this is lovely. Thank you.”

He nodded. “I had a wonderful evening with you. That sounds like a goodbye; it isn’t,” he said, then rushed to add, “Unless you are tired and wish to go home. I’ll gladly take you whenever you would like to return.”

I smiled at the carpet. “No worries. I had a good time with you too. And I’m still having a good time.”

That made him smile, too. The light from the kitchen highlighted the angles of his face and his piercing eyes. “Have I told you tonight that you look beautiful?”

I finished the last pieces of strawberry and set the bowl and fork on the end table. “I have no problem hearing it again.”

“Then, you look beautiful. Like the moon on a halcyon night.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m not used to compliments like that.”

“You deserve all of them and more.” He stood and offered his hands to pull me to my feet as well. “I believe the moon is out tonight. Would you care to see it?”

“I’d love to.”

Sergio brought me to an observatory connected to the house; it looked like an octagonal porch walled off with glass. Cushions and blankets filled a depression in the center the size of a bed. “If it’s not too forward of me, would you like to lay down?” he asked. “I don’t mean anything by it. The view is just better.”

It was cute how he assured me of his intentions and asked my permission. I felt safe, and it was sexy. “That sounds great. This whole place is great.”

We laid next to each other on the cushions. He was right: the view through the glass was spectacular. Though light pollution from the city clogged the air, limiting the stars’ manifestation, some were still visible, and the moon was bright and full.

“I love looking at the moon,” I said. “And the stars. When I was younger, I didn’t like the constellations we were taught, so I made up new ones.”

“That is adorable. Do you remember any of them?”

I searched the sky. “Do you see that cluster there?” I pointed. “I think that was supposed to be ‘Cookie in Oven.’”

Sergio laughed out loud, covering his mouth with a hand. “You astound me. Every time I think you will cease to surprise me, you do.”

“In a good way?”

“In a marvelous way.”

Feeling daring, I laced my fingers through his, and together, we watched the stars.


	8. There's Something About the Girl

I couldn’t stop thinking about Inari after she left. All of a sudden, this mortal girl had crashed into my life and filled it like an ocean breaker spilling onto a ship. If I weren’t careful, I would be swept away.

She was intelligent, funny, sweet, and beautiful. When her eyes sparkled with mischief, I wanted to pry every tantalizing secret from her mind; when they were downcast with anxiety, I wanted to hold her and banish every painful thought from her head.

As we stargazed, half of me had been content to lay there forever, but the other half yearned to feel her soft, warm curves beneath my hands. To make her gasp my name. To bury my fangs in her neck as my fingers teased pleasure from her folds. How would she whimper if I touched her? How would she shudder and arch her back and pump hot blood into my mouth?

I groaned. I was hard just thinking about it. I wrestled with my perverse fantasies before caving and heading to the shower for release.

When I emerged, I had a text from Markus, a fellow vampire who worked for VDAC (pronounced V-dac), the Vampiric Democracy of America and Canada.

_ Markus: Another vamp has disappeared. Call me when you can. _

I hit the dial button.

“Sergio,” he answered. “How have you been?”

“Well enough. You say someone has disappeared?”

Markus cursed. “Yes. An American vampire by the name of Stephenson. Have you heard of him?”

“Vaguely. He was in the meth trade, correct?”

“That’s the one. He was a nasty piece of work all right, but it concerns me that no one seems to know what’s happened to him. Like the others, he vanished overnight without a trace.”

I poured myself a glass of blood from the fridge. “Have we considered the possibility that these men and women are simply going into hiding for some reason? It wouldn’t be the first time vampires have sought out solitude.”

“One or two of them, maybe, I could see up and abandoning their lives. But almost a dozen in two years?” I imagined him shaking his head. “That would be too great a coincidence.”

“I see your point.” I took a long drink of blood, weary all of a sudden. “What is our next step?”

“I say we investigate on the sly. Try to figure out if there’s any connection between the missing vamps that we can’t see. So far, I have nothing. Some of them, like Stephenson, are old and cemented in their positions, but others are new. I can’t think of any political motivation for disposing of such a diverse bunch. I’ll keep asking questions to my contacts in the VDAC office, and you see what you can find out over there. But Sergio, be careful. I don’t want you to turn up missing, too.”

“You as well.”

The conversation lapsed, neither of us wanting to end on such a melancholy note.

“Will you be at the Jacquinots’ ball in a couple of weeks?” I asked.

“Yes,” Markus said. “Will you?”

“I suppose I must.”

“But?”

I smiled. “There’s a charming little human girl here I am loath to part from.”

Markus scoffed. “Bring her along.”

“Out of the question,” I said, clutching the phone. “I don’t want her mixed up in vampire business.”

“If she’s involved with you, she’s already mixed up in vampire business,” he said logically.

“At the ball, she’d be a walking bloodsack.”

“This event is one of the best you could bring her to,” he countered. “It won’t just be vampires; it’ll be full of Enlightened humans and Ignorant ones, as well. Everyone will be on their best behavior. Besides, who in their right mind would try and steal a pet from Sergio di Genovesi?”

“She’s not a pet,” I snarled with more vehemence than I intended.

Markus was quiet for a moment, unused to such an outburst from me. Then he apologized. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”

“Accepted. And I am sorry as well; I overreacted. It’s just that there’s something about this girl.”

He was all agreeability again. “You always were a romantic. But my point still stands. Bring her along. What woman, mortal or otherwise, wouldn’t love to be whisked away to Milan?”

“I’ll consider it.” But I was confident I would not change my mind. Milan and the Jacquinots’ ball would be too dangerous for her. I would have to endure a weekend of politics and revelry without her.

I invited Inari over one evening several days later. The sun was still up, so I couldn’t answer the door. I told her to let herself in.

From the living room, I heard the front door open and close.

“Why is it always so dark in here?” she mused. Then she called, “Anyone home?”

“Here,” I said, emerging. I was thrilled to see her. I’d missed her company, though we’d only been apart a few days.

Then I got a whiff of her and stopped in my tracks.

Blood. Sweet and tantalizing, clouding my senses until all I could hear was the beating of her heart as it pumped her warm, savory lifeblood through her body. I struggled to focus. I had eaten that day, of course, so that I would be safe around her, but she was difficult to resist when she smelled like that.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. She took her shoes off by the door, then padded toward me.

I took a step back, and she halted, confused. How could I forget that human women menstruated? I should have checked with her to be sure that I would not encounter her on her period. What was I to tell her now? Some bullshit lie about having an aversion to periods?

She was waiting for me to respond. I struggled to keep my voice steady as I said, “Nothing is wrong, except that I am overwhelmed by your beauty.” What the fuck was I saying? This was not going well.

As ridiculous as my proclamation was, it had an effect on her. The confusion coloring her features morphed into a hesitant smile, and she moved closer.

I let her approach, rooted to the spot and clenching my fists.

_ Thump, thump, _ went her heart. And again.

When she was near enough to grab, I took hold of her arms and shoved her into the wall. I couldn’t help myself; she smelled so damn good.

She gasped, and that small noise nearly did me in. “Sergio—”

I nibbled her earlobe. “You are irresistible.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

I licked a stripe up her neck. Her pulse was frantic, her skin hot and tantalizing. Something in my core twisted with need. “I have always been this way, my darling. Does it frighten you?”

“No,” she breathed.

No? She was unable to move, entirely at the mercy of a monster who wanted nothing more than to rip into her succulent flesh. “It should,” I said.

She held still, head foolishly tilted up to grant me access. Sweet arousal now mixed with the tangy scent of blood. She was baring herself to me, and I groaned with the effort of suppressing my desires.

I trembled. My fangs ached. Just one little bite. I was sure she would taste so good, but I also knew that I was in no state to stop once I’d begun.

If I allowed myself to bite her now, I would doom her. Vampires were forbidden from turning new vampires without governmental approval, and the punishment for turning a human without permission was death for both individuals.

I inhaled her scent one last time, then with difficulty, I pulled away.  _ Control yourself, Sergio. _

Inari stared at me, wide-eyed. Her back was still pressed against the wall.

I swallowed. “Forgive me. If you wish to leave, do so.” Now that she had seen me on the edge of control, I expected her to run and never contact me again. I assumed that I had just lost her through my stupid inability to rein in my hunger.

But she shocked me. “Are you kidding?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair to tidy it. “That was super hot. I don’t know what it says about me that I’m into that, but oh well.” She looked away in shame, then glanced back at me to catch my reaction.

I was frozen. She wasn’t scared? She was turned on by my display of lust? I could hardly fathom it. This mortal girl, barely 160 centimeters tall and ages younger than me, was proving herself my match over and over again.

She knew what she was getting into, now. I had warned her, given her chances to leave. But she had chosen to remain by my side and risk whatever trials came with it.

I was careful with her for the rest of the day. Though she still smelled more enticing than anyone I’d met, I had gotten a grip on my faculties and was able to interact with her with a semblance of normality.

After she left, I began planning for her to accompany me to Milan.


	9. If Only My Boss Weren’t Listening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of the story! Just spam me with comments, babes.

“So, Sergio is a vampire,” Katie said.

I snorted. We were wrapped in fluffy blankets on our couch, Katie with her laptop open in front of her.

It was the day after Sergio had pinned me against the wall. Nothing else had happened; he’d been a perfect gentleman. But now I knew what passion lurked under his composed surface.

“I found this website that lists the characteristics of vampires,” Katie continued.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” I said. “Pardon the pun.”

“As the Queen of Puns, I say that was bloody terrible and I loved it.”

We shuffled closer together so that I could see her screen. It showed an article and a still from a black and white Dracula movie.

“You said he had shades covering his windows? Vampires can’t go out in the sun. Listen to this.” She read from the article. “‘There are many versions of the vampire myth spanning centuries of superstition and lore…’ blah blah blah, ‘the book  _ Dracula _ brought the concept of the aristocratic vampire into modern Western tradition…’” She scrolled down the page. “Here we go. ‘Common legends about vampires include an aversion to sunlight, silver, garlic, holy symbols, holy water, and holy places, such as churches or consecrated ground. They must be invited past a threshold…’ Any of this sound familiar?”

I played along. “Well, he did make me take off my silver jewelry before kissing me.”

She tapped her forehead. “What did I tell you? Vampire. Also, he lives in a creepy mansion and was checking out a book on vampires when you met him.”

“You make me laugh,” I said, exchanging a grin with her.

“I thought you’d find this entertaining.” She closed her laptop and laid across my legs. “My best friend is dating a real-life vampire.”

“We aren’t officially dating,” I argued.

She guffawed. (I loved that word—guffawed—but rarely found occasion to use it. Most people avoided guffawing as a rule.) “I thought you were going to say we weren’t best friends, and then we were going to have a problem.”

“I would never say that. If we weren’t best friends, who would accuse the boy-I’m-going-on-dates-with of being an undead monster?”

“As long as you remember how important I am.”

It was a Thursday, almost two weeks after the symphony. I’d seen Sergio a couple of times since then, but on no formal dates. My period had come and gone accompanied by illogical relief that I wasn’t pregnant even though it had been months since I’d gotten laid.

I finished up a day of work. Around me, my coworkers said their goodbyes one by one.

“Take care, Inari,” said Robert Bergeron, the man who sat across from me.

“You too, Robert,” I replied. He left.

I put my notes in my briefcase, switched my cell phone back on, and was about to log out of my computer when a memo popped up from Ms. Neil.

_ Neil: If you’re still here, could you come into my office for a second? _

I logged off and, taking my stuff, knocked on my boss’ door.

“Ah, Inari,” she said. “Please come in. I have a couple notes on your piece about the teachers’ strike.”

I entered and sat down. “Is it bad?” I asked.

“Not at all. In fact, it’s quite good. There are just a few places that could use some work.” That’s what I liked about Ms. Neil; if she criticized you, it was to make you better, not to put you down.

We talked about the piece, then Ms. Neil asked how my week was going and if I had plans for the weekend.

“Nothing exciting,” I said. “I have a pretty boring life.”

My phone rang. I winced, having forgotten that I’d turned the sound back on. “Sorry,” I said, fishing it out of my purse. ‘Sergio Genovesi’ flashed on the screen.

“Who is it?” asked Ms. Neil.

“He’s, uh, a man I’m sort of seeing.”

Ms. Neil was uncharacteristically playful. “Answer it. I’d love to speak to this young man.”

Not wanting to be rude, but desperately hoping to avoid embarrassment, I answered the call. “Hi, Sergio,” I said, intending to tell him that my boss was listening, but he spoke first.

“Hello, darling. Are you available to travel to Milan this weekend?”

Ms. Neil’s eyebrows raised as my jaw dropped. “Um, Milan, Italy? That Milan?” I asked, sounding stupid even to myself.

He chuckled. “Yes, that Milan. I must attend a ball there on Saturday night, and I would be delighted if you’d accompany me. Do not worry about the cost of the tickets; I have chartered a private plane both ways. If you can make it, a car will pick you up at 3. But I know that you have work, so if you can’t get out that early but still want to come, let me know and we can try to work something out.”

I was so shocked that I had trouble making my thoughts coherent. Should I tell him my boss was there, somewhat belatedly? Should I ask if I could call him back? Instead, I said, “I don’t have anything fancy enough to wear to a ball.”

“I will take care of it. Please, I would like you to be there.”

Ms. Neil was still watching, so I tried to end the call. “I’ll check with my boss to see if I can make it and get back to you.”

“Excellent,” said Sergio, his accent adding a hint of a fourth syllable. “If you need anything else from me, let me know.”

“Okay,” I squeaked.

“Goodbye.” He hung up.

I wanted nothing more than to turn invisible. To melt into a pile of goop and slide off my chair. Anything to escape this awkwardness.

“So, ‘nothing exciting,’ huh?” Ms. Neil said.

“Do you think I could possibly leave a little early tomorrow?” I asked, cringing.  _ Kill me now, kill me now. _

“Sweetheart,” she said, “a man—and a handsome one by the sound of him and the five shades of red you’re turning—has just invited you to go to Milan with him. Do whatever you need to do to make it happen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
